Twenty-one:
Love is Kind

It felt very odd to be back at Downton; even if none of the servants they had encountered thus far had known her (And what had happened in her absence, anyway? Had Charles sacked everyone and started afresh?), Elsie felt more than slightly disquieted by being served by her fellow employees. It was one thing when Charles prepared her tea, or Beryl made special biscuits, or Edina helped change the sheets or dust in their rooms – it was another altogether to have them waiting on her hand and foot because she was with Lady Grantham.

To her credit, Aunt Merrie was lapping it up like an excited puppy.

"You have such a lovely home, m'lady," Merrie said with a wide smile.

Lady Cora replied with a more sedate smile, "Thank you, Ms. Dougal… it's been in my husband's family for generations." She paused. "I wonder what's keeping the tea. Perhaps I should ring the bell again –"

"M'lady, I'd give it time," Elsie advised softly. "If things are as you say they are, that's all we can do."

Lady Cora's lip twitched; she looked down at her hands. "I confess I did not tell your husband that you were returning – and I fear that Fiona will not do so, in order to protect you…"

Elsie nodded. "So Mr. Carson will bring up the tea and be in for a major shock," she said quietly.

"As well he should be, the way he treated you," Merrie scoffed, making a face.

"Auntie," Elsie sighed, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand, "how many times must I tell you that we were equally at fault before you'll stop laying the blame solely at Charles's feet?" She looked down at Gracie, who was sleeping soundly, happily, her little mouth moving in sleep as a suckling motion. She just had to keep reminding herself that everything she had done had been worth it; Gracie was there, she was beautiful, and she was healthy.

It didn't matter that Elsie had almost died to bring her into the world. She had been fine after the birth, as far as Merrie could tell – but the bleeding had begun in earnest, her womb tearing itself apart, as she had lain in bed. It was lucky that the village doctor lived only a few doors down, and Merrie had gone to fetch him in the middle of the night. They'd not even had the time to give Elsie chloroform before he'd cut her open, removed the offending organ, stopped the hemorrhage, and stitched her closed again. She still smarted in places where the scar tissue was growing back quite thickly.

But it didn't matter; the babe was healthy, and Elsie – though diminished – was as close to healthy as she could be, as well. Nevermind that she'd never be able to lift forty pounds of linens in one go again… that was what housemaids were for. Assuming that Lady Cora kept her word and allowed Elsie to work again, that is.

Merrie huffed. "Oh, give me the babe," she muttered. "You go find that man of yours and give him a what-for –"

"I'll be doing no such thing," Elsie snapped. "There is no reason to make him feel worse than he already does; clearly, you don't understand that. It's why two husbands left you," she added snarkily. "You're bitter and alone; and it's all your own making, Auntie."

Merrie's sharp retort was cut off by the sounds of a tea set on a tea tray clinking together unsteadily. Surely Charles would not allow such –

But when Elsie turned her head, it was indeed her Charlie who stood there, stock still, aside from his shaking hands. He did not say a word, just went into butler mode, recovering as best he could. He poured tea for the women, then went to the corner to wait.

Merrie made a furtive gesture. "That's…?"

"Auntie," Elsie said warningly, "enough."

Cora smirked and said, "Maybe I should hold the baby for a moment."

"No, I'm fine," Elsie said softly, shifting Gracie in her arms. She was tired, yes, and in a bit of pain, but that was from the long days of traveling, of being cramped up inside the third class compartments of the trains, getting no sleep and shielding herself from the glares and stares of her fellow passengers as she'd fed Gracie beneath her shawl. She'd truly not been ready to travel; her body wasn't up to it.

Ever so slyly, Cora threw in, "Maybe Mr. Carson would like to hold her so you might drink your tea. Really, Mrs. Carson, you look like you might fall out of your seat at any moment from exhaustion. You're positively grey."

"M'lady, I'm just weary," Elsie tried to lie, but she felt overwhelmingly nervous and coupled with the exhaustion, she probably was grey in the face. "It's all right – I'm fine."

"You're not," Merrie snapped, "but you're far too stubborn for your own good and had to up and get to Downton before bloody Christmas when you're meant to be resting till May at the earliest –"

Elsie glared at her aunt until she fell silent, realizing that the atmosphere in the room had changed dramatically. "Auntie, I am fine," Elsie gritted out between clenched teeth.

Charles cleared his throat gently. "M'lady, it would be under my purview as butler to offer Mrs. Carson assistance in this matter," he said quietly. "If she would see fit to accept my help, I would hold the child so she might enjoy her tea."

Elsie hesitated; she didn't want him to think that she didn't want him to hold Gracie, but at the same time, she needed to have the baby as close to her as possible. Gracie kept her grounded, sane, held together in a world full of ups and downs and shifting sands beneath her feet. Her gaze flicked up at his and she said softly, "Do you remember how to hold a very wee bairn properly?"

"I do," he said, his tone both ruffled and annoyed.

She swallowed hard. "Then come hold your daughter, Mr. Carson," she said in a gentle voice. "She'll be sleeping for a bit yet, and then she'll want feeding." He came over hesitantly. She lifted the bundle of blankets and Gracie into his arms, making sure the baby was settled before she let him pull away from her. "What is her name?" he asked, still staring down at the baby's face with something akin to awe on his features.

"Rebecca Grace," Elsie murmured. "I didn't think we should tempt fate."

The stern set of his features softened and Charles gently ghosted his fingertips across the baby's cheek. "Hello, Rebecca," he said softly.

"We call her Gracie," Merrie snapped in a very cold tone. "Of course, you do what you want."

Charles glanced at Elsie, raising an eyebrow. "My mum's sister, Merrie," Elsie murmured. "She's been very good to me – to us."

"Aunt Merrie, then –"

"You don't have the right to call me that," Merrie sniped. "After the way you've behaved –"

"The way I've behaved?" Charles scoffed rather unprofessionally. "I seem to remember a certain Scotswoman throwing one of my mother's vases at me across the room in a fit of pique."

"I am sorry," Elsie said, taking a sip of tea. She didn't feel much like eating or drinking, but she knew she must for Gracie's sake. "But I remember a certain gentleman telling me that he felt that it was my own fault that I was taking my life into my own hands, and repeating it once we came home – and I had fainted on the stairs – and I was properly infuriated." She lowered her voice and looked away from him. "My point being that we both behaved abominably."

He was silent and she looked up to find him raptly studying the bundle in his arms. She couldn't blame him much, there; Gracie was small and well-formed, and perfect in her eyes. She could imagine how the babe seemed to him. As opposed to his wife, who was probably paler than she'd ever been in her life, her fingers clenching in pain around her teacup's handle. Elsie was far less than perfect at this stage, and she knew it keenly.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, setting aside her tea and rising quickly to her feet. Ever since her surgery, her bladder had been misbehaving; the last thing she wanted was to have an accident in front of Lady Cora. The younger woman would be horrified. But as soon as she was on her feet, Elsie wobbled precariously; Merrie came to her rescue and helped her from the room.

In the water closet, Elsie wept her displeasure, her pain, her suffering… Merrie pulled out the vial and needle, meting out a third of the doctor's prescribed dosage of opiate to numb her niece's pain. Elsie had been concerned about Gracie getting too much of it in her milk after the first few days, and they had cut it back to the very bare minimum that allowed her to function. She was stubborn as hell, tight-lipped, and did not complain unless she had to; she did not take the medicine unless she absolutely could not stand it anymore.

Merrie held her close, gently petting her, embracing her, calming her – small words and large gestures. "It's all right, m'love," Merrie assured her. "The pain will ease soon… you should have said hours ago –"

"It wasn't like this hours ago," Elsie sniffled. The white hot, searing pain came and went, usually concentrated in her belly and back, but sometimes traveling down her legs. She wondered vaguely if the doctor had clipped something wrong inside her when he was cutting her apart, something that would cause her such agony. She would never know; all she knew was her nerves were shattered along with her body. "I couldn't face Charlie anymore like this," she whimpered. "I can't – he's going to think me so weak and I – I can't lose his respect."

"You stop bloody worrying about your daft man and start worrying about yourself, you daft girl," Merrie scolded. "How are you going to care for your girls if you can't even take care of yourself?"

"But I –"

"No buts," Merrie murmured. "If he cannot accept the way you are now, he is not the man for you and you will learn to accept that in time. Life takes us all in strange twists and turns, love… and you are stronger than most. You'll survive."

Elsie felt the familiar lessening of pain begin to take hold, and she breathed a bit easier. Her fingers tingled and the hot stabbing began to numb. She leaned heavily against Merrie, still with tracks of tears running down her cheeks.

"Better?" Merrie inquired gently.

"Much," Elsie admitted, her voice breaking.

"I am so sorry, love," Merrie murmured. "I wish there was another way –"

"You need to show me the dose," Elsie said softly, "so I might dose myself when you've gone home."

"You intend to stay?" Merrie asked, surprised.

"This is my home," Elsie whispered. "Of course I intend to stay."

"Yes, but –"

"It was not entirely Charles at fault," Elsie reiterated for the thousandth time. "And I cannot just abandon him now. I love him, Auntie. I love him. Not like I cared for Joe – I want to spend the rest of my life with Charlie, to be his wife in every way possible. I was wrong to have run away, but if I had to make the same decision, I would do it again." She leaned heavily against the vanity, her face still ashen grey in exhaustion and barely contained pain. "I love him," she repeated.

"But does he love you in return?" Merrie questioned. "He's done nothing to suggest –"

"He wouldn't," Elsie said quietly. "Not in front of Lady Grantham. He is a butler, through and through; emotions are locked away until we are in private." Her fingers twitched, then released their white-knuckle stranglehold on the counter. She was finally steady enough to stand on her own without assistance; she could not bear to think of what would happen when she had a spell in the future on the stairs with Gracie in her arms. So she tried not to think of the uncertain future, and concentrate only on the fact that she felt marginally better.

"If he does anything to hurt you or Fiona, I will take him out back and beat him within an inch of his worthless life," Merrie snapped. "God knows you've told me enough horror stories about your time in service –"

"He saved me," Elsie said very quietly. And he had; Charles had given her an outlet for her emotional destruction, a way for her to deal and move on.

"You bloody saved yourself," Merrie muttered. "He just stood by and let it happen –"

Elsie turned to face her aunt, then, a flush of anger creeping up onto her face. "Stop trying to blame everything on him, Aunt Merrie – I am not perfect, and neither is he. Blaming him for my failings will get us nowhere. I want to be home with him. I have been so sick at heart without my Charlie; please forgive me for actually loving a man who loves me in return. I know your experiences with marriage have been bitter and failed… but please, allow me the chance to redeem my marriage."

Merrie's lips pursed together; she looked so much like Elsie's mam in that moment that she felt a pang of deep sadness and longing in her heart. "Fine," Merrie ground out. "But if he does you one bit of harm –"

"He won't," Elsie murmured. "And if he does, I will let you tear him to shreds." She took a deep, shaky breath. "I need to check on Gracie. She should be waking hungry any moment."

"Can you manage?" Merrie inquired.

Elsie nodded, exuding a confidence she didn't really feel; she could manage, she would manage. But would she ever feel at ease again? Probably not. She took several steps shakily to the door and opened it, only to see Charles waiting in the corridor with Gracie in his arms, looking lost.

"She woke up," he said, his voice unsure. His face was contorted into a mask of worry, fear, and uncertainty as he glanced back and forth between Elsie and Gracie. "I didn't know what to do. She's not crying, but –"

Elsie came over and stroked her daughter's cheek. "Hello, love," she murmured. "Are you happy to meet your daddy?" The baby cooed and yawned a little. Elsie smiled at Charles. "She's happy and content, Mr. Carson. You've done very well."

"Are you all right?" he asked, failing to keep the anxiety out of his tone.

"For now," Elsie murmured.

And she was.

END PART TWENTY-ONE